


One Day

by fowl68



Series: Janus [3]
Category: Tangled (2010)
Genre: Backstory, Character Death, F/M, Gen, Implied Sexual Content, Pre-Movie(s), Royalty, thieves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-02
Updated: 2013-11-02
Packaged: 2017-12-31 06:52:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1028595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fowl68/pseuds/fowl68
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>His eyes find them in the crowd, that bright, almost yellow color in the setting sun. He smiles a little weakly as they slip the noose around his neck, as the floor disappears out from under him.</p><p>It's the bravest thing Rachel has ever seen anyone do.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Day

* * *

 

  
_We do not remember days; we remember moments.  
-_ _Cesare Pavese, The Burning Brand_   


* * *

 

She couldn't remember ever meeting him. He was always simply _there_. Her rock. Her anchor. Her candle in the dark.

Her first memory of him was vague and hazy, of him sitting on a countertop, legs kicking and face alight with laughter. Her first _real_ memory, one where she remembered everything, was them sitting on someone's balcony, feet hanging over the edge and hunger gnawing at their bellies. His eyes—they'd been a peculiar color, she always remembered. A very light hazel that looked almost yellow when the sun set—had been watching the crowds below them. Their village was a small one, except for when it was market day. Then it seemed like people just crawled out from the woodwork into the open.

He grinned slowly at her the left side of his lips tilting up more than the right. "Whaddaya say to watermelon for breakfast?"

Her eyes followed his gaze, seeing the merchant distracted by some customers. "Sounds fantastic."

He crept across the rooftops with the ease that all the street kids had, hopping down carefully to blend in with the crowd. She followed, because, after all, they're partners and he's her brother, even though they really don't look anything alike. He's tall and lanky and looks like a broomstick where she's small with big eyes and bony knee. His hair was red, bright red, like apples and fire. Her hair was the color of dirt and bread that was slightly burnt.

He waited until the merchant is looking the other way before grabbing a melon—not the largest one there by a longshot, but they wouldn't be able to run with one of the big ones—and tossing it up to her before scrambling up the wall himself. They're soon over the rooftops and ducking into an alleyway.

He pulled out a long knife from where he kept it in his boot—it's the only weapon either of them have, though he'd taught her how to fight with one _(No sister of mine will be one of those helpless females, he'd declared, making her laugh)_ —and was soon splitting the melon into roughly equal parts.

He handed her the slightly bigger piece, which made her frown. "Don't look at me like that, Rach."

"You're bigger than I am," she said. "You need more food."

"You're still growing."

"So are you!"

"I have less to grow. And besides, I'm supposed to take care of ya."

"Just take the bigger piece," she said stubbornly. He rolled his eyes and obeyed. She was being protective. There really was no way to win an argument with her when she got like this.

* * *

 

Her sister was the most beautiful person in the world to her. They looked enough alike—the same color hair and the same wide eyes, though her sister's were a very dark brown compared to her green—but her sister's hair curled _just so_ and she's graceful in a way that she simply couldn't imitate. She tried not to be jealous because she's supposed to be the older one—albeit by eleven months.

"Relax, Rach." Her sister always laughed when she brought it up. "Everyone knows you're smarter and faster than I am." And that's what mattered out here on the streets.

"It's true," he'd interject, a wicked grin on his face. "She couldn't find her way out of a paper bag if it didn't have enough directions."

Her sister would push him playfully, which made him laugh and pretend to hide behind her. They're family.

Some months were better than others. They'd lived in this abandoned house that had holes in the ceiling and rats for as long as Rachel could remember, but it's dry and they've cleaned it out so it's not _really_ dirty. They even managed to find a table and a few stools, though their blankets are threadbare and ragged.

It's during one of the good months that Rachel remembers sitting at the table with him and they're playing cards one spring night, the fire crackling quietly while her sister sleeps.

"Why?" Rachel asks.

He glances up at her. "Why what?"

"Why us? Why help out two orphans who, before you, wouldn't have survived five seconds out here?"

He avoids her eyes, the first time she can ever remember him doing that. "…Do you remember your parents?"

"Not really," she replies. She pretends that he hasn't heard her sometimes crying at night and she knows that Ana misses them, but to her, they're vague memories, vague feelings. The idea of having parents is as distant as the stars in the night sky.

"They used to have a little bakery."

Rachel frowns. "There's only one bakery in town."

"Exactly."

"I thought my parents were dead." There's a stirring of some kind of anger in her. Has she been lied to all these years? _(It's not anger at being lied to. It's anger that her life could be upside down, that she wouldn't be living like this and true, this life isn't all that great, but it's not so bad either. They took care of each other. That was all that mattered)_

As if reading her thoughts, he says hastily, "They are! They are, I was there. But that's how I met the two of you and your parents. I tried to steal something off of them when they were on the street. Your dad caught me. I thought he was gonna call the guards and get 'em to arrest me, but he asked me where I was livin'. I told him 'nowhere' and then your mother insisted that I live with them."

Rachel could honestly say that thoughts and musings of her parents rarely crossed her mind, but now, she leaned her elbows on the table and asked, "…What were they like?"

"You're as stubborn as you're mother," he tells her, perhaps a little sourly. She flashes him a grin that's similar to his, which makes him smile. "…She was strong, your mom. Never liked people pushing her around. But she was pretty."

Like Ana, Rachel thinks. Her sister's full name is Gloriana, but she always said that that name was for those real fancy ladies who sit on cushions and wait for brave knights to save them. _(In other words, she'd say with a wink, they're entirely useless!)_

"And my dad?"

"He liked to read, to study and learn. Actually, he's the one who taught me to read." And he had taught her and Ana.

The look Rachel makes laughter bubble from his lips. "Are you sure I'm not adopted?"

"What? You like to read."

"Not really. It takes too long."

"You like the _Tales of Flynnigan Rider,_ " he points out.

"That's different!"

"How?"

"Those stories are _interesting_."

"Have you looked for any other interesting ones?" he challenges.

"Where would I find them?"

He tilted his head, a strange look on his face. "I've never taken you to the booklender, have I?" Rachel shook her head. "We'll go tomorrow. After breakfast."

He never did answer her question, but she liked to think that it's because they're family and that that's what families did for each other.

* * *

 

When she looks up, he's leaning against one of the shelves, a knowing smirk on his face. Rachel can feel her cheeks burning.

" _So?_ " he asks, smirk still firmly in place. "You find something interesting?"

She had. He knew she had. He always knew her far too well. When she doesn't make any move to get up, he says, "He's closing shop. We've been here all day."

All day? How strange. She didn't feel the slightest bit hungry, even though their breakfast had been a few slices of bread with some cuts of cheese. And she hadn't even noticed the time pass!

He helps her up and she rises with satisfying _cracks_ of her joints. She'd clearly been sitting still too long.

"It's real quiet here," she said, looking around. The shop was small, the owner living above it. It smelled of parchment, leather and sandalwood and it feels like the outside world is so very far removed from the worlds in this room.

"I know," he said, having to stand on his toes to return the book to its shelf. "It's part of why I like it."

They return at least once a week from then on, regardless of whether it's a good month or not.

* * *

 

The plague hits with terrible strength. Their friends and neighbors are falling dead around them, their corpses littering the streets. He, Ana, and Rachel keep their noses and mouths covered constantly now, leaving their home only when necessary.

Sadly, things are easier for them now. With so many dead, they leave things behind. He steals inside their homes and takes their food, their valuables. It was all that was keeping them afloat right now.

One day, he comes home with a guitar. _(It had been Cheryl's father's. She'd wanted to learn to play because she remembered how very well he used to play. But he's gone now and so is she)_

"Do you even know how to play that thing?" Ana asks from where she's fixing one of the holes in their roof. Materials are much easier to come by these days.

"I can learn," he says. He's always willing to learn a new skill.

Ana smiles wryly. "I can feel my ears bleeding already."

* * *

 

They peer over the edge of the roof when the guards come. They're not sure why they're there, but guards are never a good sign.

She sees his eyes track the guards, track the supplies in their saddlebags. It's been too long between meals and there aren't many people left to steal from. Their village is little more than a resting place for ghosts and orphans now.

Ana grabs his arm—he's thin, too thin. Just like the rest of them. "Don't go." She warns. "Those guards…they don't have any mercy for street rats like us."

"They've got _food_ , Ana."

"We can survive on our own," she hisses. "We don't need _their_ help." His eyes flick to Rachel, reminding her that pride couldn't be an issue right now. She sighs and releases his arm. "Just don't get caught."

He smiles and it's brilliant and heartstopping. "I won't. C'mon, Rach." Ana doesn't like stealing, but she knows it's necessary. She doesn't like that Rachel is so utterly alright with it, that she finds it exciting and completely ordinary.

Rachel follows him across the rooftops, their footsteps silent, although she can still hear the slight pitter-patter of hers. His footsteps never make a sound, not ever. She drops down with no regard for how high the roof is, landing in a crouch before straightening. She looks harmless, she knows. Even beautiful girls, like Ana, sometimes put men on their guard, but plain girls are never a threat. Or so they thought.

The guards stop when they see her. One bends closer and she takes an instinctive step back. They're soldiers. The _King's_ soldiers. They have no compassion for thieves and orphans. They'd left Terry with no left hand because he'd stolen a loaf of bread for their group of thieves.

_(Rachel remembers standing with him at the window when they saw a piano being brought in to a store. She remembers hearing someone play it inside, the music drifting out and Terry had sat on the wall and listened to it for hours. He'd looked over at her, smiling dreamily. "I'll do that someday. Play piano in front of big crowds and everyone will come to listen." His dreams of being a pianist were shot now. No one would come to listen to a pianist with only one hand)_

"Are you lost, girl?" one of the guards asked.

Rachel didn't look for him, though she knew he would be sneaking around the backs of the horses, his hand slipping into saddlebags. "I can't find my mum," she said, pitching her voice to make her sound younger than her years.

The guards glanced at each other awkwardly. They probably thought that she didn't know what was going on _(Do they really think that children are so_ blind? _That she can't see the people she loves dying around her?)_.

When she saw him passing supplies up to Ana before scaling the wall, she backed off and headed for the alleys. Her village was small, but it was built haphazardly and she knew that they wouldn't find her. Not if she didn't want them to.

They ate well for the first time in weeks that night, laughing and talking. It was one of the last times that they ever did.

* * *

 

He would have turned nineteen that autumn. The leaves are already turning red and gold on the trees and the weather is cooling. They're leaving. Leaving their little ghost town of a village. There must be a place where they could be okay. Where they can live a little easier, where they won't nearly freeze every winter.

They hop on the back of caravans and, sometimes, they're given crusts of bread and a few sips of water. It's pitiful scraps of food, but it's more than they've had for a long time and they're grateful for what they can get.

The place they find is a town. Still small and rather quiet, but there are people here. And animals. And _life_.

The thieves' guild here doesn't trust them. Naturally. They're outsiders and scrawny ones at that. But he straightens his shoulders and asks to join them, tells them that he's as good a thief as can come.

They laugh and tell him to prove it.

He challenges them to pick an object.

_(Even years later, Rachel wished she'd spoken up, that she'd talked him out of it)_

They look around and choose the elegant-looking sword hanging from the captain of the guard's hip. Rachel sees him pale a little at the thought, but he doesn't back down. He never backed down.

* * *

 

"Thief!" They cry, immediately giving chase to the man-child who'd snatched away the sword and was now sprinting across the roofs.

He doesn't know this town, doesn't know its alleyways and escape routes. Doesn't know where to turn and where to duck into an alcove. So concerned is he with trying to find a way out that he doesn't hear the _twang_ of the bowstring, doesn't see the arrow hurtling towards him.

Rachel is on her feet and running for him before she's aware of what's going on. Ana's arm around her waist jerks her back down and Ana's free hand goes around her mouth. "We can't," Ana whispers in her ear. Her voice is broken. Rachel hates the sound. "We'll get taken too. We can't go with him this time."

The last time Rachel sees him free, she is twelve years old and it's the moment before they're bodily jerking him up. After that, when he's being dragged away, he isn't free anymore.

* * *

 

They're at his execution because that's what friends and fellow thieves do. _(They've heard the saying that there is no honor among thieves and it's simply not true. There was more honor among thieves than there was in the King's entire army)_

His eyes find them in the crowd, that bright, almost yellow color in the setting sun. He smiles a little weakly as they slip the noose around his neck, as the floor disappears out from under him.

It's the bravest thing Rachel has ever seen anyone do.

* * *

 

She finds work in this town. Or, future work. The owner of an inn lets the both of them sleep in their daughter's old bed with the promise that, when they're old enough, they'll work for him.. She and Ana are still too young to work, or that's what everyone says, and part of the deal is that they go to school.

School is awkward. She has been around other children before, naturally, but these children aren't like Terry and Cheryl. These children look at her like she's some strange animal that's wandered into their classroom. No one speaks to her and she disappears into her secondhand schoolbooks. It's too easy for her to disappear. _(He used to joke that all she had to do was turn sideways since she was so skinny)_.

She doesn't go back to the inn right away after school. Doesn't think she can bear it because Gloriana—she says that they have a chance for a new life and a new life deserves a new name, she says, and it makes Rachel want to cry because it shouldn't be so easy to get rid of a life—thrives there. She's friendly and beautiful and, sometimes, Rachel thinks that Gloriana doesn't miss him at all. She asks directions to the booklender's instead. It is there that she spends so many afternoons. There, there are so many different worlds, so many different places.

But one book that she makes sure to read at least once a week is _The Tales of Flynnigan Rider._

* * *

 

"I look like a boy in a dress," Rachel complained when she looked in the mirror. It's one of Gloriana's dresses and, while it fits, it doesn't _fit_ her like it did Gloriana, who was already gaining curves even though she was only thirteen.

"That's because of your hair." Gloriana said, touching her sister's cropped locks. They'd kept their hair boyishly short on the streets because it was easier, but now, after nearly two years since the innkeeper had taken pity on the orphan girls, Gloriana had grown hers out so it touched nearly the small of her back.

Rachel didn't. She kept her hair short because letting it grow out meant she was growing up and she didn't want to grow up. Not really. Because growing up meant things changed and she didn't like change.

"I like my hair like this," Rachel told her.

"I know, Rach." Gloriana was the only one that still called her that. In this town, everyone knew her as Rachel. She pretended it didn't bother her. "I'm just saying."

Rachel followed her sister—her beautiful, graceful, charming sister—down the stairs to the inn's common room. It's festival day, the day when the entire town came alive to celebrate the old myth of when the sun cried for his love, the moon, because they were eternally separated. The sun's tears fell to the ground and formed the fire lilies that bloomed about the hills and the vines on the rooftops.

There's so much dancing today. Dancing and laughing and drinking. Rachel would stay on the ground for a bit, weaving her way through the festivities, but most of her night would be spent on the roof, watching everything and pretending that he was beside her and they'd make fun of the drunks and tease Gloriana for all the boys asking her to dance.

No one ever asked Rachel to dance. She's alright with it—she's too clumsy for dancing anyway—but she wisheed that someone would ask her to prove that someone saw her. Just once.

* * *

 

There is rumor that the King is visiting this year for festival. When Gloriana tells her the news, Rachel snorts. "Yeah right. What would he want with this place?"

She's lived here for six years and she still doesn't think of it as home.

She works as a dishwasher at the inn now. She'd tried being a waitress like her sister, but she'd broken four glasses and a plate in her first night. No one had to tell her to switch jobs. It's not so bad, being a dishwasher. She finds peace in the monotonous, repetitive movements, in fact.

Gloriana somehow convinces her to buy a new dress. _(Gloriana had always been able to persuade them to do anything if she really wanted to)_ The dress is pale green like the new shoots in the fields, but it has touches of sky blue in there too. The sleeves aren't the bellflower style that was so popular these days. These are tight on her arms and aren't going to get her all tangled up when she tries to do something.

The night of the festival, Rachel and Gloriana are leaning on the bar, watching the dancers. There's a rumor going around that the Prince was here too, but no one had yet to see him.

"You should dance," Gloriana tells her, having to lean in so that Rachel could hear her.

Rachel shook her head. "No way."

"Come on. It's not like you're bad at it." Gloriana had caught Rachel doing her own little dance while she did the dishes once. The teasing had yet to stop.

"I'm not doing it."

"Come on," Gloriana laughs. "Please?"

Rachel can never deny her sister. Not when she says please. She goes out on the dance floor, not entirely sure what she was doing, but she dances. She's aware of the eyes on her—what girl danced without a partner?—but she ignores them. They're probably idiots anyway.

When the music stops, she returns to Gloriana, who has a sly look in her brown eyes. "What?"

"See that guy over there?" Gloriana shifts so that Rachel can look over her shoulder. "He was watching you."

"You're seeing things."

Her sister chuckles. "Yeah, right. Besides, he don't look too bad."

"He's probably an arrogant bastard who thinks with things that ain't his stomach or his brain."

"You have such faith in men," Gloriana says dryly. "But you're probably right."

"I'm gonna get out of here. It's too crowded."

Glooriana doesn't say anything to that because she knows her sister. It has less to do with crowds than it does that Rachel doesn't like the tightness that they created in enclosed spaces.

"Hey, beautiful girl!"

Rachel hears the voice, but ignores it. They aren't going to be calling for her anyway. She's trying to get away from the thick crowds near the fountain towards the outskirts of town, where she might be able to breathe easy again.

"Hey," There's a hand on her wrist and her first instinct is to go for the knife that she has strapped to her thigh. "Didn't you hear me calling you, beautiful girl?"

It's the guy that Ana had pointed out. He's not all that bad looking really, with broad shoulders and hair so dark a brown that it nearly black in the darkness. There's a tilt to his mouth that says he's accustomed to smiling and Rachel is sure that this guy had gotten away with a lot with that charm of his.

"You're drunk," she tells him.

He blinks at her. "I haven't had a sip of alcohol all night."

She snorts. "Liar."

"I'm not lying."

One her eyebrows arches. "Who comes to the festival and doesn't drink?"

"Someone who doesn't like the taste of alcohol."

"A rare person."

"I thought so. I was on my way to dinner and—"

"You're lying again," Rachel interrupts.

"What?"

"You really think women are blind, aren't you? I saw you in the inn. You had an empty plate in front of you."

"You're very observant."

"It's one of my better qualities."

"Listen, would you like to dance with me?"

"I'm not sure you _can_ dance," she said before beginning to walk away. She doesn't like dealing with things like this.

"Was that a yes?" he calls after her.

"No!"

"Then was that a no?"

Much as she hates to admit it, even to herself, he's something different in her usual, monotonous day. Maybe that's what prompts her to say, "No!"

She can hear him laughing. "Then you owe me a dance!"

"Put it on my tab!"

That's the first time she meets Allen, who's really the Prince, though no one thought to mention that to her at the time.

* * *

 

She's sweeping the inn's common room the next morning when someone comes in. "We ain't open yet."

When there is no sign of them leaving, she turns, about to repeat herself, when she freezes at the sight of the guy from last night, dressed in what looked like fine velvets, accompanying an older man with a salt-and-pepper beard and graying hair. "I think you'll make an exception for us," the older man says.

"Why should I?" Rachel asks, propping a hand on her hip. "What makes you so special that you think you're better than other people?"

" _Rachel!"_ It's the owner, looking scandalized as he sees who is standing just inside his door. "Do you not know who this is?"

She blinked perplexedly at him. "Should I?"

The owner groaned. "Your Highnesses, I apologize for her rudeness."

"No need," the older man—who must be the King, Rachel is just now understanding—said. The King who had allowed his execution _(He'd smiled at them before he died…bravest thing she'd ever seen…)_.

Suddenly, Rachel finds herself hating the salt-and-pepper man.

And she's fervently grateful for Gloriana choosing that moment to come down the stairs, tying her hair back as she did. It gives her an excuse to get to the kitchen and start heating up the stoves. The cook was running late this morning. Unsurprising really. Rachel knew of the man's love of the bottle.

"This has to be destiny, beautiful girl."

Rachel glances back at him—who must be the Prince, she realizes. "Why's that?"

"Two meetings in less than twenty-four hours? What else could it be?"

"Coincidence. This town's small. Odds are that we would've run into each other again eventually."

"You wound me."

"I'm sure you'll survive."

"You're rather cold, beautiful girl. Anyone ever told you that?"

"I'd appreciate it if you would stop calling me that."

"You haven't exactly given me a name to work with, have you?" he said.

"Neither have you," she shot back.

A smile curled his lips and it's slightly lopsided. "Allen. My name's Allen."

"Rachel."

"Name of an angel." He's trying for the charm now.

"No it isn't." At his look, she couldn't help but grin a little. "What, you think you're the only one who reads?"

"Most women don't like to."

"Or they read those pointless romantic novels that have no real plot."

Allen laughed. "Very true. But…how would you know that they have no plot?"

"My sister enjoys reading them. I tried it once, just to see if there was something to it. I still regret reading it."

"That bad?"

"That bad," she confirmed.

Gloriana's head poked around the door. "Rach, would ya stop flirtin' and get to work please? Customers are gettin' in and they ain't so patient when they need coffee after being hungover."

"It isn't flirting!" Rachel called after her sister, but she started pulling out the eggs and the strips of ham.

Allen was laughing and she shot him a glare. He just smirked. "See you around, Rach."

He's the first person from this new life to call her that. She pretends it doesn't make her like him more.

* * *

 

"You ever want to see the big city?"

She doesn't look up from her book. She's comfortably settled on a rooftop, up against someone's chimney. Personally, she's surprised that Allen actually made it up here. "Did you ever want to see a little town like this?"

"Not until I saw you."

"Your lines are terrible."

"So is the weather."

This time, she does look up. "It's not so bad." It's cloudy and it had drizzled earlier that morning, but she's seen worse on a rooftop.

"Maybe not for you small-towners."

"Or you're just a sissy who can't hack it."

His eyebrows leap to his hairline. No one hasver spoken to him like that _(But he didt mind. He welcomedit really because this girl didn't care. About any of it)_ "Oh, and you can?"

"You don't see me whining about a few clouds, now do you?"

"Who said I was whining? I was simply making an observation." Allen sits himself down beside her. "What are you reading?"

She holds the book up for his inspection. "One of my favorites."

"You reread your books?"

"Of course I do," Rachel says as though she couldn't imagine doing anything else.

Allen thinks that that makes him fall for her a little more.

* * *

 

Allen comes by for a meal every day. It doesn't matter whether it's breakfast or dinner or even just a small bite sometime during the afternoon when it's too early to be having dinner; he's there. He always sits at the exact same corner, the one nearest the door to the kitchen.

"Aren't you supposed to be home by now?" She refills his glass of water without having been asked. She's no waitress, but she isn't going to let Gloriana and the other girls waste their time serving a guy who can very easily be served from where she is. Even _she_ can't drop a plate or a glass in under ten steps.

"I've decided something," he tells her.

"Oh really? Do enlighten me."

"I'm not leaving until I get that dance that you owe me."

"That's a long wait for a caravan that's not coming."

"Come on. Would a dance with me be so terrible?"

"I've seen you climb a roof."

The look of confusion on his face is absolutely worth the many refills. "How does that connect to the dancing?"

"Simple. If you can't climb nice, you can't dance nice."

Allen looks at her thoughtfully. "An interesting theory." He wants to know where she comes from, why she thinks like this. He wants to know everything about her.

"You're in the minority that thinks so." She takes his dirty plates and heads back into the kitchen.

"Quite a woman, ain't she?"

Allen doesn't know the man who sits across from him. "Yes, I suppose she is. Who're you?"

"A resident. I live down the street. And if I were you, I wouldn't be wanting to get involved with her."

"Why not?"

"Her and her sister are bad luck."

"What?" It's one of the craziest things he's ever heard.

"It's true. They's from a little village down yonder got hit by the plague. They's the only ones that survived."

"That doesn't mean they're bad luck."

"Means they're cursed."

Allen tells him that he's crazy and leaves the inn.

* * *

 

"He acts like a real sweetie," Gloriana says one night as they're both lying in their beds, staring up at the ceiling.

"What's your point?"

"He could be good for you."

"He wouldn't be."

"Why not?"

Rachel turns on her side so that she can look at her sister. "He's the Prince."

Gloriana's eyes darken. She's as fond of the monarchy as Rachel is, perhaps even less so because she had a very good ability to keep a hold on her grudges. _(But she couldn't remember the day that their father took him in, the day she met him. He'd been scrawny and nervous, his eyes darting everywhere.)_ "He told you?"

"I found out when he and the King were down here."

"Ah. Then he was tryin' to play you."

"Doesn't matter if he was or he wasn't. I didn't fall for it."

Gloriana chuckles. "'Course not. You're too smart. I told you you were."

* * *

 

"They say you're cursed."

"Maybe you should listen," she told him tartly.

He ignored her comment. "Why do they say that?"

"It's a small town. People don't trust outsiders."

"I thought you were from here."

"Nope."

"It doesn't bother you, what they say?"

She stared at him, genuinely baffled. "Why should it?"

He looked at her like he'd never seen her before. Perhaps he hadn't. "You're a very unique person, aren't you?"

Her startled laughter was short and abrupt. "No one's ever put it quite that way before. Usually, people are more vulgar about it."

"I meant it in a good way."

"Of _course_ you did."

"I can prove it."

One of her eyebrows winged upwards. "Oh really? How do you plan to do that?"

He smiled, leaning forward. "Come to dinner with me and you can find out."

"That sounds a lot like manipulation." Rachel said, leaning her hip against the wall.

"That's because you're a cynic."

The twist of her lips wasn't quite a smile, but Allen didn't know what else to call it. "When's this dinner of yours planned?"

"Tomorrow night." His grin looked like it should split his face. "I'll meet you in front of the inn at sunset."

"At sunset? A tad early for supper, don't you think?"

"There's a bit of a walk involved."

"Incredible. The Prince is actually willing to use his own, perfectly good legs instead of taking a fancy carriage. Surely, the world must be coming to an end."

His grin didn't fade because that's her version of a yes.

* * *

 

Gloriana waited up for her sister. Of course she did. How could she not? Sisters looked out for each other and Rachel's been looking out for her ever since those bandits came into her parents' bakery, killed her parents and cleaned out the store. After that, it had just been the three of them. Gloriana, Rachel, and him. Gloriana figures that she can at least return the favor somehow.

She wondered what he would say if he was still alive, if he saw Rachel now. Because Rachel was pretty, in an honest, 'herself' way. Like Mama had been. Would he be proud of her? Almost definitely. He'd always thought that they were wasting their lives as street rats. Would he agree with her decision to go out to dinner with the Prince? He'd probably laugh, thinking it was a wonderful comedy, but he'd tail her, making sure that she didn't get hurt because he was overprotective like that.

When Rachel slipped in the door, she's glowing like sunshine through a curtain.

"I take it you had a good night?"

Rachel glanced up. "Yeah…I suppose."

"What'd you do?"

"He had a picnic set up on the hill, out by the fire-lilies."

"Think he's trying a bit too hard?"

Rachel shrugged. "Even if he is, it was a free meal." And they both knew better than to turn down a free meal.

"Anything else happen?"

"He walked me home." Rachel knew what her sister was asking after—she wasn't an idiot—but she wasn't even lying. He'd been a gentleman, something that was as rare out here as purple frog.

"And that's it?"

"That's it."

"I don't trust him."

Rachel smiled wryly. "Was that supposed to surprise me?"

* * *

 

His cousin comes down to visit. They'd always been close because all their other relatives were so far away in age. Even between them, Jonathan is two years older. He'd grinned delightedly when he saw him because really, they don't see each other that often and those occasions are slowly becoming less and less as they get older and their responsibilities are beginning to pile up.

"How'd you get away this time, Jon?" Allen asks. They're sitting at what is now his favorite table in the inn.

"I used my charm and wits, naturally," Jon replies, grinning. Jon is an athletic man, one who preferred the grip of a sword hilt in his hand to the smooth edges of parchment. In truth, Allen and Jon are very little alike, but they work well together. Somehow.

"If that's how you do it, I'm surprised you get away with anything at all." Allen laughs as Jon pushes at him playfully.

"Is there something you two are wanting to eat?" The woman who is standing by their table is slim, with rather short hazelnut hair. Allen is surprised to see her. "Who let you waitress?"

"Gloriana's got a nasty cough, so it's up to me, not that it's any of your business."

He tilts his head, studying her. He has never actually seen her and her exploits in waitressing—after all, she keeps to the kitchens when he comes—but he's heard the stories. "Doing this makes you rather snarly, doesn't it?"

Her smile is more a baring of teeth. "Sorry if I'm more concerned with my sister's wellbeing than your meal, Prince."

"Why aren't you up there with her now?"

"Because someone needs to do this job."

"I'll do it."

Jon nearly chokes. "I beg your pardon?"

"I'm with him on this one. Do you even know how to walk and carry a tray at the same time?"

"It can't be that difficult," Allen says, his pride coming up in a rush to defend him. "After all, _you_ can do it, can't you?"

Rather than getting angry, as he'd suspected she would, she grins in such a way that he knows with sinking certainty that he just put his foot in his mouth. "I bet that you couldn't do my job for a full day without making a fool of yourself somehow, but if you think so, why don't you take my job for the day? After all, _surely_ such an epitome of masculinity could do something so simple as walking and carrying a tray at the same time."

"What would be my prize if I were to win such a wager?"

She braces an arm against the table. "You'll get that dance I owe you."

Allen leans forward, interested. "Fascinating. And what would happen if I were to lose?"

"Then I don't owe you the dance anymore."

"That's a lot riding on the wager."

"Yes, it iss" she agrees. "Mostly pride."

Allen grins. "You're on."

It's only after she leaves—untying the apron around her waist and tossing it to him before disappearing up the stairs—that Jon whistles lowly. "Who was _that_ spitfire?"

"Her name's Rachel."

"Uh-huh. _And?_ "

"And what?" Allen asks, blinking at his cousin in confusion.

"You're sweet on her, aren't you?"

"Not really. Maybe a little."

A sly smile splits Jon's lips. "Only a little? It's alright to admit it. She's a rather attractive woman. I'd be interested in her myself if I didn't have Gabrielle."

"You won't let this go, will you?"

"Of course not! As your surrogate older brother, it is my solemn duty to tease you about your love life—or lack thereof if that should be the case. How did you meet her?"

"I saw her dance," Allen replies honestly, the thought that the answer might be a tad strange not even crossing his mind.

"That's it?"

Allen shrugs. "I can't explain it. She's…different from everyone else. She doesn't care that I'm the Prince."

"I saw that rather clearly," Jon says dryly. "What do you plan to do about it?"

"I haven't quite gotten around to thinking about that yet."

"Naturally. Now, if you want that dance, you best be getting to work." Jon smirks as his cousin ties the apron a little clumsily. "This is proof right here."

Allen frowns at him. "Proof of what?"

"This girl, she'll be the one you marry."

Allen laughs. "Not that I wouldn't mind that, but how do you get to that conclusion?"

"You're going through a lot for her. Who else would she be?"

"You're delusional," Allen says before going into the kitchen.

"Nope," Jon mutters, eyes still on his cousin's back. "Just not blind."

* * *

 

It's the first time in a while that they've had the day to themselves. Granted, Gloriana is stuck in bed on her sister's orders, but they are still together, just them, almost like it used to be. Sometimes, Gloriana thinks that she can forget about the days when he'd been there, always ready with a smile and a tease. Gloriana feels a rush of guilt right after thinking those things because she knows that Rachel can't ever forget.

They're sitting on opposite ends of the bed, a deck of worn playing cards between them. They play games that they haven't played since they came to this town, games that he and the other thieves in their town had taught them. While there had been a thieves' guild and they'd been fond of him, Rachel and Gloriana, it had been understood that the three of them were separate, were their own family.

"So, how is it that you're up here when there's work to be done down there?" Gloriana asks as she contemplates her cards.

"You won't believe it," Rachel warns, lounging on the bed, her feet dangling off the end.

"Try me."

"He took over for me."

"…What?"

"Told you that you wouldn't believe me."

"You're telling me that the Prince is downstairs, waiting tables? Is that what you're saying?" Rachel nods, smiling. The look of disbelief on her sister's face was to die for. "I need to see this."

"Don't even _think_ about getting up," Rachel tells her sister a little sharply.

Gloriana considers disobeying, but then she remembers the plague, and their neighbors dying in the streets. Both she and Rachel know that this isn't the plague, but the memory is there, a taint, and Gloriana knows that her sister would never want to risk it.

"I still want to see proof," Gloriana grumbles under her breath, sinking lower beneath the blankets.

"I'll try and get some," Rachel promises.

* * *

 

It's nearly midnight when Rachel comes downstairs again. She doesn't think twice about sitting opposite the man Allen had been sitting with earlier that night, even though they looked enough alike to probably be related. The man isn't much taller than Allen and a day's growth of stubble appears blue on his face. He had the same dark hair, but his was much closer to black and he had very blue eyes. He's bigger than Allen in terms of musculature, but no one can ever call him fat.

"How's he doing?" Anna asks.

The man snorts. "A few minor disasters, but he's tenacious if nothing else." He catches her eye and adds, "It means stubborn."

She forces down the immediate, instinctive flash of temper. This man doesn't know her, isn't belittling her. It wasn't a word most commoners knew and it had been a fair bet that she wouldn't know it either. "I know what it means. And you're right. He is."

She doesn't squirm as the man studies her with intent blue eyes. He surprises her by holding out a hand and smiling brilliantly. "I'm Jon, Allen's cousin."

Her hand is dwarfed by his. "Rachel."

Allen announces himself by simply dropping into the seat between them. "Well, Rach, it's after midnight."

"So it is."

"And I'm still working."

"Yes, you are."

"I never pegged you for a monosyllabic person."

Rachel props her elbow in the table, leaning her chin in her palm. "I'm waiting for you to realize something."

"And that is?"

"That you didn't win the bet."

"Oh?"

"I said for a full day. You only worked for maybe six hours."

His eyes narrow at her. "You knew that from the beginning."

The triumphant smirk uncurls on Rachel's face. "I might've. But since you didn't win…"

Allen ignores the way that Jon is smothering a laugh. "Neither did you. You cheated, Rach."

"Yes, yes I did." Allen has never seen someone own up so easily to something like that. And so proudly. "But the agreement stands."

"I will get that dance, one way or another. Might as well be now so I'll get out of your hair." He's holding out a hand, smiling charmingly.

Rachel leans back in her chair, her eyes never leaving his. "And what makes you so sure?"

"I just know these things."

"I've heard that same thing from fortune-tellers conning tourists in the streets."

"But I'm not a fortune-teller."

"No, you're not," she agrees. "But not all conmen are fortune tellers."

"But you know who I am."

Her eyebrows arch in a manner that lets Allen know that he said something ignorant. "Are you really so naïve as to think that simply because you're the Prince that that means that you can't be a conman? I find that it's the higher-ups that are the lowest class of liars actually."

Allen's eyes flash as he leans forward on his forearms. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me. And you're intelligent enough to understand what I said."

"Ouch. You really don't hold back, do you?" Jon says before taking a draught of his ale.

"No, I don't." Her green eyes glitter in the lantern light. "Still want to dance with me?"

Allen doesn't hesitate. "Absolutely."

He tries not to squirm as her eyes study him. There is something else in her eyes that Allen isn't accustomed to seeing, something darker. Finally, she sighs and takes his hand. "You're a persistent one, ain't you?"

"You say that like it's a bad thing." But he's still smiling because she finally said yes.

It isn't that they're bad dancers. In fact, they're both rather good dancers. The issue is the kind of dancing. Allen has only ever been exposed to the court dances and Rachel simply follows the tune. They step on each other's feet and trip, but they're both laughing and Allen thinks that he has never seen anything so radiant.

They're close to each other, too close. He can count her freckles. But she isn't backing down because that's not in her temperament and he has his pride. He doesn't realize what he's doing until the action is done and she's very warm and tastes like the rain.

* * *

 

"He didn't just up and leave forever, you do know that?"

Rachel doesn't look back to Jon. "I don't care if he did or not."

"Rachel, you have to understand, he has obligations back home."

"I do understand."

"And you're still angry." "No I'm not."

Jon lets out a sigh. Apparently, Rachel could be just as stubborn as Allen if she wanted to be. It had been nearly three weeks since Allen and Rachel had danced and, startling enough for Jon, let alone to them, kissed. Allen had left for home the next morning.

Jon likes to think that he's one of the people closest to Allen, so he wants to be able to think that he knows what's going through his head, but in truth, he has no idea. But he has theories and, if those theories are to be proven either right or wrong, Rachel needs to not hate Allen.

She is delightful, Jon finds, when her temper wasn't sharpened in someone's direction. She's intelligent and witty and absolutely unafraid of people. Jon has seen her stare down bandits and thugs in the inn that were nearly twice her size. Jon teaches her to play chess in the late evenings after the inn closes and she teaches him to play desert rats, a card game that was common among the street kids in her hometown.

He can see why Allen would love her, even if he isn't aware of it.

Rachel's sister, Gloriana, is another story altogether. If Rachel _is_ angry, it's a subtle anger. Gloriana is snarling and snapping anger whenever Allen is brought up. Rachel is quick to calm her sister down, with only a few words, but Jon knows that the sisters are too similar for Rachel to not feel that same anger.

* * *

 

"You hate me now, don't you?" He finds her at night because he doesn't quite have the courage to see her in the daylight, to completely see the anger he knew would be on her face.

"No."

At first, he swears he's hearing things. "What?"

Rachel looks back at him and she looks just as she always has, although the look in her eyes is cooler than before, but only a little. "I don't hate you."

"You're mad at me, though, aren't you?"

Her hair has grown out a little since he'd been gone, long enough now that the ends are nearly to her shoulders. He hadn't known that hair could grow that fast in five months. It creates a motion when she shakes her head that's only strange because he's so accustomed to seeing her with her boyishly short hair. "I'm not mad either."

"You're something."

Rachel nods and leans back against a wall. Out here, in the streets among the dirt and mud with the goats and sheep, something about her fits better than it does inside the inn. Oh, she doesn't belong in this town—she's a survivor and far too opinionated for that—but she fits. "Don't ask me what that something is, but yeah."

"I'm sorry." The words burn in his throat, pride nearly choking them into silence. "I-I shouldn't have left. Not like that."

"No, you shouldn't have," Rachel agrees. "But I don't want your apology, Allen. I'd like an explanation."

"Where to start?"

"I find that the beginning is always a good place."

Allen can't stop himself from smiling a little. Rachel tended to have that effect on him. "…I wasn't supposed to have stayed. Not for more than a day or two. Certainly not for four months."

"Your parents were angry, weren't they?"

"My father was."

Rachel's brow creases in confusion. "And…your mom?"

"The plague took her."

Understanding and empathy immediately floods Rachel's expressive face. But she doesn't apologize, like so many have in the past, or cry. "Never goes away, does it? Missing her."

Allen wants to ask, wants to know who she'd lost, but he can tell by the shadows in her eyes that she won't answer him. Not today. "No, it doesn't."

"What did your father say? When you went back."

Allen lets out a low chuckle. "I'd forgotten how well he could lecture. And of course, it wasn't just him. The advisors and my tutors…they kept going on and on. I had to sort-of kind-of run away to come here."

She's staring at him, eyes wide. " _What?_ You ran away?"

"It's not like I'm never going back. I have responsibilities there. But…but I wanted to ask if you'll come with me."

"You're insane. I'm serious."

"So am I."

"We hardly know each other."

"I know that your favorite fruits are apples. I know that your favorite book is _The Tales of Flynnigan Rider_ and that you don't like reading books with any kind of love-at-first-sight. I know that you're kind, even if you don't like to seem that way sometimes and that you're smarter than most people would ever give you credit for. I know you don't like eating peas and that your favorite color is yellow."

"And that's enough to make me uproot my life here, leave my sister?" It's the latter that will stop her from going, Allen knows. She doesn't care about her life here. She cares about her sister's life here.

"Gloriana can come too. And…maybe it's not enough. Not yet. But…I'm willing to try for more than what we have now. I want to try and…make some kind of life with you."

"And if things don't work out? What happens then?"

"Then I hope you can forgive me for whatever stupid thing I did to make things not work out and we can hopefully come back to this, to being friends."

"You consider us friends?"

"Why, don't you?"

She breathes a laugh and rubs her hand against her mouth. She always does that when she's thinking. "I've never really put a label on it."

"Do…do you want to come and not put labels on things with me?"

Rachel laughs at that, not unkindly. "Aren't you supposed to be with some princess or something?"

"Technically. But that's not what I want." His eyes are very steady on her and Rachel has no doubts about what it is that he _does_ want.

"I can't guarantee that I won't get scared and run away. I…I don't belong in those circles."

"You can't know that until you try. So?" He holds out a hand, praying that she doesn't say no.

Rachel doesn't say 'yes' right away. But it's not an automatic 'no' either. She stares at his hand and Allen would gladly give up one of his less-favored body parts to know what she's thinking. Finally, she looks up at him. "Yes, I'll go with you, but…I want to talk to Ana before we leave. It doesn't feel right, leaving her out of this."

Allen doesn't pretend to understand that. He's an only child, Jon being the only thing that comes even close. But that doesn't matter now because she said yes and he's embracing her before he realizes he moved.

He's warm and nearly envelopes her small frame. Her arms automatically wrap around his waist and her nose buries in his collarbone because, somewhere along the way, he's become okay and she thinks she loves him a little, even if he does smell of peppermint and sweat and lilies.

* * *

 

He would laugh if he saw her here, Rachel knows. She can nearly see him, walking beside her as she follows a servant—a servant!—through the castle corridors. His bright red hair and yellow-hazel eyes that are sparkling with mischief seem real enough that she could reach out and touch him.

She almost does, before she snatches her hand back from where it had lifted of its own accord to try and brush against his sleeve.

Rachel feels isolated here. Gloriana _(Not Ana because Ana is the street child with the missing-tooth smile who disappeared as soon as_ he _died)_ had stayed, hadn't wanted to leave this life of hers.

 _"I have somewhere to live out my life, Rach, and it's a_ good _life. I'm not stealing to stay alive, I have a roof over my head that doesn't leak, an actual_ mattress _, a steady income…I'm sorry, but if I go with you…I'll lose all that and I-I'm afraid that I could never find it again."_

" _That's not all of it, is it?"_

_She knew her sister too well. "No, it isn't. I don't understand how you could go with him, Rachel. Allen…he's a nice guy and all, but…he's the reason he died."_

_"Ana, you know he's not."_

_"Him, his father…what's the difference?"_

_"A lot, believe me."_

_"I can't see that. I'm sorry, Rach, but I can't." Gloriana had hesitated. "You'll come to visit me, won't you?"_

_"Of course! Why wouldn't I?"_

_Gloriana shrugged and Rachel recognized that the child that was still in her sister was afraid she wouldn't come back._

_"Hey…if you absolutely are against me going, I'll stay, alright?"_

_Gloriana's head had jerked up to stare at her sister. How many things had Rachel sacrificed for her sake? And, as much as Gloriana didn't like Allen—against her will because Allen was polite and interesting—he made Rachel happy._

_"No…no you go. You deserve this."_

"Miss?"

Rachel looks at the servant, a girl that wasn't much older than twelve, tops, who wouldn't look her in the face. "Sorry, did you say something?"

"I was saying that these're your rooms, miss."

"Room _s?_ Plural?"

"Yes, miss."

Not wanting to seem ignorant, Rachel doesn't ask the particulars that are running through her mind as the servant opens the doors—two doors, elegant and dark wooded—and she freezes when she sees the inside.

The main room is large enough to have fit the entire inn—including the upstairs. Perhaps that was a slight exaggeration—the length of the room, not the height—but it most certainly could have fit their old hideout. There are mostly only small couches and a low coffee table as well as a dining table large enough for three people, four if you wanted to squeeze in an extra person. And there are _bookshelves_. Tall ones and while Rachel is certain that the books there are for show, it doesn't make less of an impression.

There's a door on the left that leads to a smaller room, but no less grand. The bed is large and sumptuous, with enough pillows to have one under every person in their old thieves' guild's head. It's warm in here, despite the crisp coolness that autumn brought. There's even a balcony, with intricate designs on the glass in the doors.

"This is beautiful," Rachel breathes. The room smells too clean, too unused, but it's still beautiful.

"I'm glad you like it, miss." The servant is about to bow out before Rachel calls her back.

"What's your name?"

The servant looks startled. "Miss—"

"You act like no one's ever asked your name before."

"No one of such high standing, no."

It makes Rachel laugh out loud, unable to help herself. Her, a woman of high standing? The very idea seems ridiculous. "I'm not, really. I am—well, _was_ a dishwasher in an inn back home."

"But that's in the past, miss. You're the Prince's Lady now."

Her temper is sparked. "I'm the Prince's, am I?"

"Y-yes?"

Rachel has to work to get a hold of her temper. It wasn't the servant's fault. "Can I ask where to find the Prince?"

"Yes, of course. He should be in his quarters."

"And where are they?"

"In the West Wing, miss."

"Let's just skip all this. I'm asking for directions to his quarters from here."

The servant gives them, stuttering and startled. Rachel smiles. "I'll be back soon."

* * *

 

Allen jumps when his door opens, grabbing a pillow to cover the important bits as he'd been in the middle of changing. Rachel, however, seems completely unbothered by the fact that she just walked in on a naked man.

"Is the entire castle like this?" Of all the things for her to begin with, he hadn't thought it was going to be that. "Like what?" he asks slowly.

"Misogynistic. They seem to think that just because you brought me with you, that I'm 'yours'."

"Really?"

"Yes. And it's damn annoying. I thought it was just one or two people, but I've heard it all over the castle. 'It's the Prince's Lady.'"

"And you're coming to me about this…now?"

"The servant who led me to my rooms—plural, mind you, though heaven knows why I would need more than one—said it and I suppose it was the last straw."

"I…see. And—actually, would you mind turning around?" he asks, unable to stand in front of her, naked and with only a pillow covering him.

Rachel simply blinks at him. "Why?" Allen looks down pointedly. "You're acting like you've never been naked around someone before."

"I haven't! Not since I was an infant, at least in the case of women. Jon and I would go swimming occasionally after we went riding."

"That's it?" Then again, Rachel supposes, it wouldn't have been necessary for them as it had been for their family. With lack of individual rooms and a constant chill, you lost any sense for modesty for practicality.

"Yes. Now, would you please…?" He makes a vague gesture with one hand for her to turn. She does, rolling her eyes. Allen is quick to pull on underclothes and his breeches. "And why does this matter so much to you?"

"Because I want to be known for myself. I'm no one's belonging." Rachel has to speak over her shoulder. Honestly, men can be such babies sometimes.

He's tugging his tunic over his head when she decides he's taken long enough and turns back around, still completely nonchalant. "Not that I disagree," he begins, trying to explain what he'd grown up with. Because the thing about Rachel was that she will _never_ be anyone's belonging. It's one of the things he likes about her. "But…for now, that's how they're going to see you until you can distinguish yourself in the eyes of the court."

"This is going to annoy me," she says after a long pause and he laughs.

"It annoys everyone, believe me."

"Do you have a library at least? Or are all of your rooms sitting around unused?"

Allen smiles in fondness. "The library isn't used very often, but it's been that way since my mother died."

"Your mother liked to read?"

"That's where I get it, or so everyone tells me."

Rachel runs a considering eye over him. "I like her."

He chuckles and shakes his head before holding out an arm. "Shall we adjourn to the library, my lady?" he asks playfully.

She links her arm through his. "We shall."

Rachel isn't sure why, but if he's the only one calling her 'my lady', she thinks that she's okay with that.

* * *

 

The first time she meets his father—properly—she can't help some of the old resentment bubbling up, even though she keeps her words and demeanor polite. It's the King's fault that _he_ is dead, that her brother was killed for doing what was needed to survive.

Even if the King is polite, in a vaguely cold way, and even though he didn't monopolize the conversation at dinner—asking her questions of her family and her town _(Rachel has to stomp viciously on the resentment because it's_ there _and she wants to tell him that her brother is dead and it's_ entirely his fault _and that her hometown was destroyed by the plague)_ —she thinks that she'll always hate him, even if only a little.

* * *

 

Rachel was told she needed to dress like a lady. This is what has her standing here patiently while people poked and prodded t her with needles and folds of fabric.

There's a knock at the door. "Is everyone…decent?"

The tailor beckons Allen in impatiently. "This is your lady. What do you think?"

Allen looks Rachel up and down. The dress is pale gold, tooled with silvery blue designs along the bodice. "It looks wonderful."

The tailor follows his eyes. "Yes, I think so too. Just need to tuck in some areas," Rachel holds back a wince as a needle pokes her again. She feels like a human pincushion. "There."

Rachel's etiquette tutor isn't really large. She simply seems that way with how she towered over you. Severe black eyes and dark brown hair pulled back into a tight bun only made her seem like an overbearing crow.

"Now then," the tutor says as she circles Rachel. Scratch the crow part. More like a vulture. "You are slouching. Shoulders back, stomach in," Rachel feels hands on her, forcing her body in the position and she instinctively rebelled. The hands only pressed more firmly. "Neck arched, head straight, your eyes are never on your feet."

"Why?"

"Because," Allen tells her. This was ingrained in his mind from years of lessons. "If you're focused on the ground, that's where you're going to end up."

"Voice of experience talking?" Rachel says wryly.

"I can still feel the bruises."

"I'm sure."

"You must try the dress with the shoes, lady," The tailor says, shoving a pair of heeled shoes in her hands. "Otherwise, it may be too short."

The shoes are torture. They pinch uncomfortably and they put her feet at a strange angle from the ground because of the heels. Combined with the dress, it usually wouldn't be too bad a problem. Now, combined with twenty different directions that the tutor and the tailor were telling her, Rachel finds herself getting tangled up and falling backwards, arms flailing in an attempt to keep her balance.

The next thing she knows, Allen is standing over her, a hand outstretched toward her and a smile that suggests he was trying very hard not to laugh. "Well…that could've gone better."

Rachel takes his hand and allows herself to be pulled up, despite the fact that she was still unsteady in the shoes. She can see _him_ shaking his head and chuckling, can picture the way he would've waited for her to get up on her own because she was always very stubborn about not needing a boy's help when she was a kid. She can hear his voice _—And here I thought I trained you better. It's weird; you're graceful on a roof, so why not shoes?—_ and there would be a smile on his face to let her know that he was joking and she'd retort that maybe he could stuff his feet in the shoes and they'd see how he did.

By the time Rachel refocuses on the room, the tutor is gone and the tailor is packing up his supplies. "What happened?"

This time, Allen's grin was full-fledged. "You punched her."

"The tutor?"

Allen's head bobs up and down in a nod. "You have a mean right hook. I think you broke her nose."

"It was an accident."

"I believe you, but if that was an accident, I never want to see you punch someone for real."

Rachel glances down at her hands. She'd been in fights before. Her knuckles bore some of the scars. Her knuckles had bled with the force of punches and she can still see the scar from Gunter's knife had left during a street brawl. It began off-center on the back of her hand and went to the underside of her wrist. It's faded and worn now, but it stands out against the light brown of her skin.

Rachel has seen the ladies here. They're pale, porcelain dolls with flawless skin. It's just another way that she stands out.

* * *

 

It's a slow process, but she slowly gets acclimated with the way the court works. She doesn't like it, but she knows it. The people here underestimate her and then have the nerve to be surprised when she does something intelligent.

"There's gossip about you, you know," Allen says one twilight when they're sitting out in the gardens. It's their time to themselves and it's peaceful in a different way than Rachel was used to.

"Oh really?" Rachel asks, leaning back on one arm. The grass here is too soft and feels like the gardeners worked too hard to make it that way. Nothing like the grass back home that are scraggly and dirt-patched and dry. "And just what is the gossip vine saying?"

"Well, some of them are afraid that you're actually a spy for a neighboring kingdom. Others say that you're an upcoming political force to be reckoned with while others yet say that you're a mysterious seductress that's gotten under my skin and that you plan to control me like a puppeteer."

"I can't say that they're lacking in creativity."

"Rachel," She glances at him because he almost never uses her full name. He's the only one that doesn't these days. "Are you, I mean, are you happy here?"

She has to think about it, which is a little nerve-racking for him, but he appreciates it just the same. It means she's being honest with him.

"I think so," Rachel says finally. "It's weird here, and different, but not in a really bad way. I'm still adjusting to it all."

"You're sure?"

She kisses him softly, lightly and when she pulls back, her green eyes intent on his. "Yes, I'm sure."

* * *

 

He nearly has a heart attack from fear when he saw the shadow. The kitchen, for him, was strictly off-limits after he and Jon had had a sudden creative urge several years ago.

The shadow is small and sitting on the counter. When he raises the lantern to get a better look, he's surprised to see that it's Rachel in her nightgown, a mug in her hands.

"What're you doing up?" Allen asks, startled.

Her small shoulders rise and fall in a shrug. "Couldn't sleep so I came here."

He lifts himself onto the counter beside her and motions for the mug, which she passes without complaint. He always found that strange because Jon's sister—who was all of thirteen and absolutely a teenager—hated sharing.

He thought it was tea. Whatever is in the mug is most definitely not tea. It's sweeter and thicker.

"What is this?" He asks, taking another, smaller sip.

"Hot chocolate. The innkeeper used to make it for Ana for the first few weeks when we got there. He said it was soothing. I just thought it tasted good."

Allen hums in interest as he hands the mug back. "Have you been in contact with her?"

It's been almost nine months since Rachel agreed to come and Allen knows that she misses Gloriana. He doesn't understand it, not completely, but he tries to.

"We've been writing for a while. It's not the same though. She's with someone."

Allen looks sideways at her. "With someone or _with_ someone?"

 _"With_ someone." Rachel isn't focused on him. Her eyes are on her mug, on the hot chocolate that her sister loved. "She says she thinks she loves him. My little sister's falling in love and I'm missing it."

"Do you want to go back?"

"I told you I was happy here," she says quietly. "I wasn't lying."

"I didn't say you were. Do you want to go visit her? You're not a prisoner here, Rach. You can come and go as you please." Rachel knows that. She knows it in a distant, logical way. But, she supposes, some part of her was still the thief, was still the child who'd seen the boyman who was her brother and best friend be killed and it was all the Crown's fault and she thinks that there's some fear there that she would end up with the same fate.

"Would you like to come with me?" she asks.

"I would, but I can't. I have to stay here. Besides, this should be just for you two."

She doesn't say that she's grateful for that, but he knows anyway.

* * *

 

Ana envelopes her in one of those bone-crushing hugs as soon as she walks into the inn. Laughing, Rachel returns the favor, kissing her sister's cheek.

They wander the streets that night, scaling walls with the ease of long familiarity and walk the rooftops; balancing on the lips of the buildings and looking down at the quiet of a small town. They speak on every subject, their laughter echoing in the night. They're free again, free of the lives that they had become so accustomed to.

"How is it?" Ana asks as she leans on a chimney pipe. "Living in that city?"

Rachel searches for a word to describe it, but finally she just says, "Different. It's very different."

And she tells her sister not of the court, but of the city itself. It has a very different flavor compared to their town. The crowds, the way that the buildings gleamed and the _energy_ , always hovering just beneath even the silences.

"But," Rachel says, "The best part, I think, is the alleys."

"Alleys?" Because alleys, to thieves, don't mean the same thing that they mean to everyone else. Alleys to them meant quiet little pubs where thieves guilds usually had their headquarters and places where people threw dice and gambled away from the eyes of the guards. "They have them there?"

Rachel nods. "Mm. I almost went into a pub, but…" But then she remembered who she was now. "So, who's this 'friend' of yours?"

Ana blushes a little and hooks a lock of her hair behind her ear. "You don't know him."

"Tell me anyway."

And Ana tells her of the farmer that had come to town to sell his latest crop. "He was so friendly," Ana explains. "And he has a daughter. She's seven and looks just like him."

"What happened to his wife?"

"She died a few years back from the ague."

"I see."

Ana looks at her sister. "You don't like him already."

"It's not that. It's just that…this could end up hurting you, Ana."

"I'm willing to take that chance."

Rachel studies her younger sister, sees the determination in her eyes and finally says, "Alright."

* * *

 

"How was Gloriana?" Allen asks over dinner. It's just them tonight and they decided that, rather than eat in the far too large dining hall where the King insisted on eating, that they would enjoy their dinner on the balcony. They're sitting on the floor across from each other, plates of food between them.

"She seemed happier."

"Are you not happy for her?"

"I am. It just feels strange." Rachel chuckles lowly. "This isn't anything how I imagined us growing up."

"If it makes you feel any better, I didn't picture anything like this either. And, honestly, if I had to choose between this and what I pictured, I'd choose this. Every time." Allen's eyes are soft when they look at her. "What about you?"

"If I'm being honest? I don't know. I want to say that I would choose this life. It's better than my old one, but…" But this life didn't have him there. She misses him like a sun misses a flower.

"Didn't you ever picture a different life as a kid?"

"Of course. But it was never very different from reality."

Allen is quiet for a moment. "…Your parents…they're…not still alive, are they?"

He sees the casual tension that spreads through her body. "No. They're not. They were killed by bandits."

"I'm sorry."

Rachel shrugs. "I can't really remember them."

"That doesn't mean you don't miss them."

She leans against him, shoulder to shoulder. "I think I miss the idea of them more." She misses him more. She always will.

Allen kisses the top of her head. "I don't know what I would do without my parents."

Her greens eyes assess him carefully. "You'd find a way to keep going." It's one of the highest compliments she could pay him.

* * *

 

She's getting ready for bed when someone pounded at the door. "Come in!"

Her door opens—she rarely keeps it locked. The door to the balcony, however, is always locked. She knows how thieves operate—and Allen is leaning on the doorframe, in his robe, looking like he's about to collapse.

Rachel runs to him, wrapping her arms around his waist to keep him from falling. "What happened? Are you sick?"

"I-I feel like it." For some reason, his lungs don't want to work properly and it's hard to take a deep breath.

"Come on." Rachel helps him walk so that he can sit on the bed. "Sit. Put your head between your knees."

He obeys automatically, not wondering why she knew to do this or why he had to.

Her fingers run soothingly through his hair. "What's wrong?"

"…My father." He manages to finally gasp because fear has his chest feeling too tight and the world feeling far too small.

"What about him?"

"He…he started on a speech…started saying things about-about the future and my responsibilities and it-it just started to feel…like everything was so _heavy_ and I had to get out of there, but I couldn't, so I had to sit through it and he just kept going…"

"It's your future. Why didn't you just tell him to let you make your own decisions?"

Why? Because he didn't want to die tonight. His father, while he was past his prime, he was still capable of producing quite a bit of fear.

But she sounded baffled, genuinely baffled, so he raised his head as much as he could to look at her. She was serious. She wouldn't think twice about telling off his father, the _King_.

There's something flickering behind her eyes, but Allen can't tell what exactly what it is. "Do you want to sleep here tonight?" Rachel asks quietly.

His first thought is Yes. Propriety tells him No. Rachel is an unmarried woman and, while he's her…someone, it would still be improper. _(They have yet to properly define what is between them. One thing is for certain. He loves her. He loves this woman made of spitfire and sass with her tartsweet personality.)_

"Please," is all he says.

Rachel stands and pulls back the covers as far as she can with him still sitting there. "Get in."

"I—" His face is suddenly hot with a blush.

"Let me guess, you wear nothing to bed." Her voice is dry and without embarrassment. How does she do it?

Rachel moves to the other side of the room, turning her back politely. It doesn't bother her, but it does him and right now, he needed stability.

Allen quickly slips out of his robe and into the bed. The bed is fairly large, so perhaps, if they kept to their own sides, this wouldn't count as breaking propriety.

A minute or two later, he feels the bed dip a little as Rachel got in, keeping to her side, but otherwise unconcerned. "Goodnight, Allen," she says just before she blows out the candle.

Allen lays in the dark for a long time, unable to sleep and, by the sound of Rachel's breathing, neither could she. He can see it, his future, looming in front of him like some great, misty creature. He'd always thought that, when his future came, he would be able to rise up to meet it. But any bravery he might have had had fled before it, which led him to come here, to the most courageous person he knew.

Her voice is a gentle murmur. "It's alright, you know. To be afraid of this."

"How do I take on the future?"

She rolls over so that she's facing him, though there is still a good two, perhaps three, feet in between them. "The same way you take on everything else. One day at a time."

Her words wash over him, a comforting balm. He wasn't alone. She would be there, right beside him.

They don't say any more and, eventually, the warm bed, the scent of the plain soap that she uses and her familiar presence being _there_ lulls him to sleep.

* * *

 

When she stirs to a semblance of wakefulness, she finds that there's a weight on her. When she opens her eyes, a warm arm is loose around her waist. It takes Rachel a moment to remember who the arm belongs to and why Allen is in her bed.

Rachel considers moving because she has never been one of those people who could lay in bed for hours after waking. She always felt the need to _move_ , to do something. But if she moved now, she would wake him. With that decision in mind, Rachel just shifts into a slightly more comfortable position and drifts back to sleep.

After what feels like five minutes, she feels something shove at her and the warmth that had been behind her was well away from her. Rolling over onto her back, Rachel blinks blearily at Allen, who has a good half of the blankets in his lap and whose eyes are very wide, his entire body humming with tension.

"Good morning to you too," Rachel grumbles.

"Rachel," Allen begins. "I am _so_ sorry."

"What for?" She asks curiously.

"For touching you in your sleep of course." Allen says it like it should be obvious. It takes a moment for her sleep-muddled mind to understand that it was because of his upbringing. He probably hadn't shared a bed with someone of the opposite sex in his life, innocent or no.

Rachel snorts. "Allen, you'd have to do a lot worse than what you did to make me angry."

"It's improper," he insists, still clutching at the blankets.

Before they can continue the conversation, a guard is bursting into the room. "Lady, the Prince is—"

Rachel and Allen must make an interesting picture. Unmarried, yet together, but unbetroth, with him nude but for the blankets on one side of the bed looking rather panicked and she, completely dressed in her nightgown, still working on sitting up and looking utterly comfortable.

She had had a friend back in their town once who'd wished to be an artist. He'd sit with his charcoal on the rooftops and sketch the most beautiful things that were at once so ordinary yet so lovely. Once, he'd drawn two people _(It had been **him** and her, sharing a watermelon. Their differences had been easy to see, her sketched in darker shades save for the eyes where he was all thin lines and few shadows)_. He'd said that he'd heard that this kind of technique was called chiaroscuro.

Rachel thinks that this is what she and Allen look like now, with the guard staring at them. If someone were to sketch them now, it would be like chiaroscuro.

Things get only worse when the King appears in the doorway, clearly searching for his son.

"It appears that the Prince is here. Back to your station, soldier."

"Y-yessir."

They are suspended in silence as they wait for the guard's footsteps to be well out of earshot. Finally, the King speaks again. "This is disgraceful, Allen. I thought better of you, I thought you would be more respectful."

Rachel's temper flares in immediate defensiveness. "He is more respectful of me than you are."

Grey eyes look at her. "And yet he went to your bed when he knows that it is—"

"Perfectly alright," she interrupts. "We're both adults and we can make our own decisions."

"I can believe that of you." The King has never looked at her like he is now. With respect, like she was her own woman. It's a look he gives to only a handful of people and less than a handful of women. "But him…my son is too gentle."

"You say that like it's a bad thing."

"It is for a King."

Allen finally finds his voice. Perhaps it was because Rachel stands beside him, unflinching as always. Perhaps it's because it's because he has nothing more to fear because suddenly, his courage has been found. "Maybe I'll be a different kind of King than you are. You may be a great King, but you are too harsh on your subjects. This kingdom could use some gentleness."

Rachel's heart pounds with the memory ( _Thief...doesn't know its alleyways and escape routes… he doesn't hear the twang of the bowstring…Ana's arm around her waist…We can't…get taken too…he isn't free anymore…They're at his execution…more honor among thieves than there was in the King's entire army…He smiles as the floor disappears out from under him…)_ and she finds herself believing in Allen, really believing in him, for the first time as a King. She would serve that kind of King gladly, the kind that would value kindness and forgiveness, would be proud to call herself his subject, his wife, his queen, his Lady.

The King studies his son for a long while. "You're ready."

Allen looks startled. "For what?"

"To be King. But, I suggest that the two of you get married first."

Rachel and Allen glance at each other. They hadn't discussed anything more serious, content with where they were at. But, because one of them needs to say something and it seems like Rachel has finally been rendered speechless, Allen says, "That's fine, but can I get dressed first?"

The King is chuckling as he leaves, closing the door behind him. Rachel tosses Allen his robe and turns her back while he dresses.

"He wasn't serious, was he?" Rachel asks.

"…He probably was." Allen comes up behind her, hands hesitating inches above her shoulders before they grip, a warm, solid presence. "Would that be so bad? To be married to me."

She turns to face him, his hands still on her shoulders. She tries to remember the feeling she had, the pride, and it's there still, strengthening her, steeling her spine and stiffening her limbs. But the rebellious part of her doesn't want to be married, doesn't want to be tied down. But it's Allen, who's charming and gentle and clever, whose smile is a little lopsided and who loves to read.

"I don't know how to do this. The whole marriage thing. I don't have a clue."

"You'll just have to take a leaf out of your own book, won't you?" When looks at him, confused, he smiles a little. "Take it one day at a time. So, beautiful girl, would you do me the honor of marrying me?"

Looking at him now, quietly confident and his hands a steady strength, Rachel smiles a little and whispers her answer against his lips.

* * *

 

She doesn't recognize herself, dressed in white with her hair braided with baby's breath.

"You look beautiful, Rach."

For a moment, she doesn't hear Ana's voice. She hears his and she turns automatically. She can almost see him, smiling fondly and gentle eyes a little sad. Rachel suddenly wishes he were here so fiercely that her heart aches.

Then she remembers that Ana is standing right there, her curls loose around her face and the pale yellow of her dress almost the precise color of his eyes in the sun.

Perhaps Ana can see the thoughts on her face because she smiles _(Rachel pretends not to see the sadness behind it. She knows that Ana misses him as much as she does)_. "Honestly, Rach, thinking of another guy on your wedding day. How dare you!"

It startles a laugh out of Rachel and she feels a sudden gratefulness for her sister, because she doesn't think she could do this on her own.

* * *

 

They lie together that night, legs loosely tangled beneath the light blanket because it is summer and it was simply too hot for anything thicker. They hear the clock strike midnight, its quiet chiming echoing a little in the large room.

Allen props himself up on one elbow, looking down at her. "So, beautiful girl, how was your first half a day of being married to me?"

She looks up at him, feeling utterly lethargic and at peace. He had been gentle and loving, nothing like what everyone had warned her and Ana of. "So far, not terrible."

He laughs, his teeth flashing in the darkness. "That's a start, I suppose."

She throws an arm around his waist, kissing his bare shoulder. "A good one."

* * *

 

Jon is the first to find out after the physician. He stares at her when he gets the news.

"You're with child?" Jon says, eyes wide.

"Aye."

"And you tell _me_ first, of all people?"

Rachel shrugs. This felt like something she had to tell _him_ but Jon reminded her so very much of him that it was close enough. "What about Gloriana?"

"I planned to tell her and Allen at dinner tomorrow night."

Jon curses under his breath, running a hand through his dark hair. "Allen doesn't know yet?"

"I-I wasn't sure how to tell him. I don't quite believe it myself yet."

Jon looks her over. She had changed much from the woman he'd met at the inn and even from the woman whose wedding he had attended nearly two years ago. Something in her face had matured so that now her face matched the experience in her eyes. She had fit herself into the role of the Queen, but she had changed it as much as Allen had changed being King. They went out among the people, danced with commoners and drank with thieves. Rachel, especially, was comfortable in the shadier parts of town.

He can't bring himself to be even remotely annoyed with her because she was very much like his sister now. "Am I at least invited to dinner?"

Rachel smiles gratefully, understanding the acceptance of the news for what it was. "Of course you are. You're family, aren't you?"

* * *

 

When Allen hears the news, he stares at her for long moments before circling around the table, yanking her chair back, tugging her to her feet and he swings her around, whooping in joy.

Ana laughs and congratulates her and Jon, Jon simply leans back in his chair, smiling. Rachel, for a moment, can see _his_ ghost sitting there, doing the same.

* * *

 

Allen likes to wrap his arms around her from behind, his hands cradling her slowly swelling abdomen. He kisses her neck and he'll speak quietly about the things he'd like to teach their child and how he hopes it's a girl. He's always wanted to dote on a daughter, he says.

Rachel chuckles and tells him that that sounds like something he would do.

"And," he says, brushing his lips against her cheek. "She'd be beautiful, just like her mother."

"Flattery gets you nowhere," she tells him.

Allen grins at her lopsidedly, familiarly, his bearded cheek resting on her shoulder. "It got your attention, didn't it? When we first met."

Rachel never tells him that he was the first person who wasn't related—or practically related—to her to call her beautiful. She supposes it doesn't matter. He's the only one that counts anyway.

* * *

 

The physician tells her that she shouldn't be out of bed, that she's ill in ways he hasn't seen in years, not since the Plague Times. Allen sits by her whenever he isn't needed in court. He either holds her hand or lays beside her, reading aloud.

"There must be a cure," Jon says.

Allen can only shake his head. "The physician told us that there isn't one." It hurts him somewhere deep to see the fiery woman he loved, so full of life and strength, unable to leave the bed. "We would need a miracle to cure her."

"I've heard of such a miracle," Ana says quietly.

"We all have," Jon points out. "They're all over the place."

"No, I mean, it's said to be a real thing. It's something that, that a…a friend told us about a long time ago." Ana glances at her sister, who can picture his face in her mind still so clearly. "It's said that, once, a drop of sunlight fell from the heavens. Where this drop fell, a golden flower grew and it's said to be able to heal all illness and injuries."

"Is there anything else to the legend?"

Ana shrugs. "Some versions say that the drop of sun fell near the ocean, where the sea creatures would love and care for it."

Allen looks at Jon. "We'll search the coastlines. Every single one."

* * *

 

"This might not work." Rachel tells him, even as he follows the physician's instructions to put the flower in a bowl of pure water. "It's just a legend."

He cups her cheek. "It's your only chance, Rach. It certainly can't hurt."

She can't argue with that. "I hope it tastes better than those healing brews they've been shoving down my throat."

He chuckles and holds the bowl to her lips, tipping it gently. At first, they wait for a sign, any sign, that it was working. None came.

She grips his hand. "Allen, we both knew that it—"

"Look!"

She follows his gaze, seeing the way that gentle golden light seemed to trace itself onto her skin. Slowly, the constant pain in her throat from coughing went away, as did the tightness in her chest and the terrible ache in her head.

"Rach…Rach I think you're healed."

She laughs, unable to quite believe it. "Well I hope so, otherwise I'm glowing for no apparent reason."

His arms are suddenly around her and she can feel relieved tears soaking into the skin of her shoulders. She hugs him back tightly, never wanting to let go.

* * *

 

"You want to name her what?"

"Rapunzel."

Rachel looks at her husband, who is holding their newborn daughter in his arms. His eyes haven't left the baby's chubby, pink face; the picture of a loving father. "Where did you get that name?"

Allen shrugs. "I thought it would be unique."

"It's certainly unique alright. She'll be made fun of by the other kids."

Allen looks from Rachel to the child and then back to Rachel, a thoughtful look in his eyes. "If she's anything like you, that won't stop her."

Rachel huffs a laugh. "Well, when you say it like that, how can I say no?"

Allen is smiling when he kisses her. "You're mellowing out in your old age, Rach."

"You're older than I am!" she protests, unable to keep the smile off her face.

But Allen isn't focused on her anymore. His eyes are all for their daughter, for Rapunzel. He holds her up so that Rachel can see her. "Hey, beautiful girl," Allen says to Rapunzel. "That's your mama."

And Rachel doesn't think of him at all, doesn't think of what he would say or do if he were here. She simply cradles her daughter close and leans back into her husband's arms. She doesn't know how to be a mother any more than she knew how to be a queen or a wife.

As though he knows what she's thinking, Allen leans close, his breath warm in her ear, and says, "One day at a time."

* * *

_Here is the world. Beautiful and terrible things will happen. Don't be afraid.  
~Frederick Buechner_

 

* * *

__


End file.
